


The Cure

by ABeckoningCat



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hiccups, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeckoningCat/pseuds/ABeckoningCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has the hiccups and Natasha has had enough of it, so she shuts him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure

He was trying to be very quiet.  He was  _failing_ , but he was trying. 

"Water, Clint," Natasha said irritably, one hand fisting as the other shook the remote at the TV, willing the channels to change faster. 

"Not thirsty," he said easily, and seemed to jump with a slight, contained laugh.  But it wasn’t a laugh, it was a hiccough, and the sound of it — no matter how well-repressed — had been driving her steadily more insane for nearly an hour.  The man’s patience was legendary, but hers less so, and she could no longer fathom how he could endure the affliction (such as it was) without doing something about it.  Without doing  _anything_  about it. 

"Hold your breath," she sighed, lowering the remote as she realized she could no longer concentrate on whatever was on.  Patiently the archer continued fletching arrows at the adjoining breakfast bar. 

"I need air to live." 

She cast him a hot look, only the slight curl of his mouth indicative that he knew the extremity of her annoyance.  It couldn’t possibly have been comfortable to suffer the hiccoughs for so long, so obviously he was doing it purely to egg her on. 

He twitched with another lurching little breath, a squeak at the pit of his throat, and she sighed. 

_Fine._

“Barton," she began, tossing the remote aside and rising from the couch.  The movement caught the corner of his eye, and he cautiously watched her approach. 

"…Romanoff.  If you’re thinking about trying to scare me, I—" 

But then she had his head between her hands, mouth pressed to his in a firm kiss.  Far from being romantic, her green eyes were wide, burrowing into his own as he stared back in bewilderment.  His body gave another deep, squeaking twitch. 

And then she pinched his nose shut with one hand, and the struggle began. 

For a moment it seemed certain they were about to have a knock-down, drag-out fight;  Clint scrambled back from the breakfast bar in alarm, barely saving himself from a fall from his stool, and still she kissed him, eyes wide open. 

"Mhhn!", he protested against the pressure of her mouth, struggling to breathe. 

"Nnhn," was her response, fingers leaving bloodless little marks to either side of his nose.  He struggled against her, making small, desperate noises in his throat, but Natasha held on for dear life until, finally, he managed to wrench himself free, raggedly clawing air into his lungs. 

"The  _fuck_ , Romanoff!?", he panted, flattening a hand at his chest. 

She set her teeth in a small, hard smile, watching him intently, until the archer began to visibly squirm under her gaze.  A minute passed… then another… and just when he was contemplating calling Banner for a full psyche evaluation, she broke with a small, triumphant yell, holding her arms above her head. 

“ _Yes!_   No more hiccoughs.  In your  _face_ , Barton." 

Clint stared at her narrowly, chest still heaving slightly for breath. 

"You seriously have issues," he reminded her, but she was too busy enjoying her moment of triumph, returning to the couch to reclaim the remote. 

 "You seriously have no idea."


End file.
